In Your Orbit
by Archer973
Summary: It all begins when John goes to comfort Clarice the night after they get back to the Underground together.
1. Heartbeats in the Night

It had never been easy for John to sleep at Headquarters, not with every heartbeat, every breath, every whimper lingering at the edges of his sense. It was even worse now with so many people, most of them angry and afraid, packed under one roof. Sonia knew, of course, and had offered her "help", a sly wink and press of sugar sweet lips as she pulled him towards her room.

He had gone, not knowing what else to do, but when her hands reached for him, suddenly all he could see was the blood on the floor of the small farmhouse. So he excused himself, saying he had to go over the reports Strucker and Sage had written up on the classified files they had been working on. And he was going over them, but the words had long since stopped making sense, twisting out of shape and blurring before his eyes. All he could see was dried blood and the small, pink hair clip he had found stuck behind the couch, the only remnant of the child that had hidden there during the attack. Clarice has trembled when she saw it, pressing her lips so tightly together that he had feared she would bite right through them.

Clarice. He could still feel her sobs shaking his chest, could still hear the way she had called out for her foster parents, people who had loved her, who had made her feel so safe that they were her first instinct when she fighting for her life. Every tear that had fallen on his shoulder was like a burn, a stab at his heart. He knew what it was like to lose your home, your family. And to have them killed, murdered in cold blood... John realized that the pen he had been holding was nothing more than shards of plastic. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to relax, letting the mangled plastic fall from his hand.

Leaning back, he closed his eyes, forcing himself to focus. He concentrated on his breathing, his heartbeat, slowing them, making them steady. He had to stay calm, in control. The Underground depended on him, depended on his strength. They needed him.

Something brushed the edge of his sense. John immediately turned his attention outwards, following the shallow, choked breathing. His heart twisted when he caught a glimpse of black-violet hair. Clarice.

He was on his feet before he even made the decision to go to her. He forced himself to stop, to think about whether or not this was even a good idea. They still hadn't really talked about the memory that Sonia had put in her head, and what that meant for them, for how they felt about each other, whatever that was or may have been. John knew he should just sit down, or go back to his room, or out to the sentry posts, or anywhere that wasn't the small storage room Clarice had claimed. But then he heard the smallest choked sob escape her lips and he was moving, out the door and down the stairs, not needing light to move silently and quickly through the building that had been his home for years.

Zingo whined when John pushed aside the ragged curtain that they had hung on the outside of the small storeroom. Clarice, who was sitting on her cot with her back pressed against the wall and a pillow wrapped tightly in her arms, looked up. Her eyes were puffy and swollen and John could see the wetness of tears on her cheeks.

"John," she croaked, her voice choked by her sorrow, swiping furiously at her cheeks. "What are you doing here?"

"I..." John said, suddenly realizing that he had no idea what to say to her. "I wanted to check on you."

"Check if I was still here, you mean," Clarice offered, her lips twisting bitterly. "I meant what I said, back at the farmhouse. This is my fight now. So you can stop worrying. Your ride isn't going anywhere."

"That's not what I meant," John said firmly, moving farther into the room. "I – I know about losing people, about being the one that survived, and the guilt that can bring. In the desert..." He swallowed, memories threatening to resurface, memories he still saw in his dreams at night. "I just... I didn't want you to be alone."

"I've got Zingo," Clarice said, nodding towards the dog. Her voice had lost some of its edge, and there was almost a smile on her face as she looked down at her loyal companion, who was watching her with worried eyes.

"Yeah, she's pretty great company," John agreed, smiling slightly as he knelt down and rubbed Zingo's ears. "Always knows when people need her."

"We had a dog like that," Clarice said after a moment, not taking her eyes off of Zingo. "He came to the farm a month of two after I did. We called him Bear, because he was huge and shaggy. He always knew when the new kids were having a hard time, or if they were scared, or lonely. He – he slept in my room most nights, against my back. He... he knew I needed – that I needed –"

"That you needed to feel safe," John offered as Clarice's voice failed her. She nodded, face twisting as she fought to stop the tears that were coming once more. John's heart wrenched and he wanted so desperately to reach for her. He knew it was a terrible idea, that she was still fighting the memories Sonia had put in her head, memories that could cloud what she felt for him, if it was anything at all.

"Clarice..." He didn't know what he was going to say, only that he wanted to comfort her. But then she looked up at him, those strange, luminous eyes showing the cracks in her walls that her grief had opened, and John was lost. He reached for her, just as he had at the farmhouse. She held back only for the briefest moment, a knee-jerk reaction, then she leaned into him, letting her head rest on his shoulder and his arms encircle her shoulders. Her whole body was shaking and John was struck in that moment by how tiny she was. The thought just made him hold her tighter, pulling her into him as he eased onto the cot and leaned his back against the wall.

"They were innocent," Clarice whispered, her hand, which had moved to rest on his chest, clenching into a fist. "Carl, Denise, the kids, Bear... they weren't hurting anyone. And they killed them."

"We'll make them pay for that," John murmured, resting his forehead lightly on the top of her head for a moment, drawing in the scent of her hair, a combination of the cheap shampoo they all used and the faint smell of ozone that always lingered around her. Clarice turned her head, pulling back slightly so that she could look at him, and John forgot how to breath for a moment, she was so close.

"Do you promise?" Clarice asked, the edges of rage dancing in the depths of her eyes, the hard core of steel John knew she possessed sharpening the lines of her face, her tears still fresh on her cheeks.

"Yes," he replied, every ounce of conviction he felt resonating within that single word. "We'll find them, Clarice. Together." Clarice looked into his eyes, searching, though for what John didn't know. She must have found it, however, for she nodded and dropped her head back down onto his shoulder, pressing her face into the side of his neck.

John took a deep breath, suddenly aware that his heart was racing. He knew that Clarice had to be able to feel it too, with her hand pressed to his chest as it was. But as her breathing started to even out and her body began to relax against his, he pushed the thought, and all its connotations, to the side and instead just focused on the young woman beside him. For tonight, that was enough.


	2. Soft Dawn Light

The first thing that Clarice felt when she woke was _warm_. She smiled, nestling deeper into her pillow, pressing into the warm, solid bulk at her back with a hum of contentment.

Wait.

Clarice's eyes shot open. The first thing she saw was Zingo, looking at her with the kind, knowing eyes she loved so much. The second was the large, muscled brown arm that was wound around her side and chest, cradling her against its owner. Barely daring to breathe, Clarice turned her head slowly, needing her eyes to confirm what she already knew was true.

John fucking Proudstar was asleep behind her, his face practically buried in her hair. Sleep had smoothed some of the heaviness out of his face, eased the stern set of his mouth. Some of his hair had fallen across his cheek and for a moment Clarice had the insane urge to reach over and tuck it behind his ear.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck

 _Get a grip, girl,_ Clarice told herself firmly, letting her head fall back against the pillow. The movement jostled John, making him grumble in his sleep and press his face closer into the back of her neck. Clarice almost whimpered. The feeling of him pressed against her, of him holding her to his chest, cradling her like she was something beloved, something precious... She had had dreams about this. Usually there was far less clothing, but still...

 _Damn Dreamer_ , Clarice thought viciously, clenching her hands into fists, anger and pain bubbling up inside her. _Damn her straight to_ _ **hell**_.

"Clarice?" The sound of John's sleep-roughed voice made Clarice jump. "Clarice, are you alright?"

Clarice closed her eyes, fighting back a sudden wave of emotions. There was so much gentleness, so much genuine concern... Clarice couldn't remember the last time someone had spoken to her like that.

"Yeah," she said finally, opening her eyes and turning her head so she could look at him, though she didn't have to turn far, for John had lifted himself up and was leaning slightly over her, concern furrowing his brows. He still hadn't removed his arm from around her. "Yeah, I... I was just surprised to see you, that's all." John seemed confused for a moment, then looked down, as if he just then realized the position they were in.

"Oh," he said, and Clarice swore she could see the slightest shade of pink appear on his tan cheeks as he leaned back, taking his arm and warmth with him. "Sorry, I, uh – I must've fallen asleep."

Clarice, who suddenly felt unbearably cold, turned so she was facing him, propping herself up on her elbow. "Well, at least I know what your spirit animal is now."

"Yeah?" John asked, looking at her curiously, the warmth she suddenly realized she had become accustomed to coming back into his eyes.

"Yeah," Clarice replied, grinning up at him. "An octopus."

John just looked at her for a moment, straight-faced. Then he broke, slumping down against the pillow and allowing his laughter to escape him. Clarice couldn't help but smile. He had a beautiful laugh.

"That was terrible," he finally said, looking up at her from where he lay against her pillow, his eyes sparkling, his smile free and easy on his lips. Clarice had to force her gaze away from them, though it took more effort than she would have liked to admit.

"And yet you're the one laughing," she replied, the gentle teasing setting her at ease. This wasn't something that Dreamer had put in her head. This was theirs, something they had before everything got... complicated.

"I know," John said, shifting so that he could lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, grin still on his face. "It feels good. I honestly don't know when the last time I laughed was."

"Well, it looks good on you," Clarice said before she could stop herself. "You should do it more often." John looked at her, and Clarice suddenly realized what she had said. She bit her lip, cursing herself. Then John smiled, a soft and gentle smile that made Clarice's heart twist.

"You make it easier," he said softly, turning his hand so that his fingers were brushing hers. Clarice's heart jumped and for a moment she couldn't breathe. Part of her mind was screaming at her to run, to get away from John and all of the potential pain and heartbreak that he could cause. The other part knew that a nuclear blast couldn't have pulled her away from him right now.

Somewhere down the hall a door slammed, making both of them jump. Clarice could hear the soft murmur of voices as the other mutants began to come out of their rooms, heading towards the pseudo kitchen for their daily rations. John closed his eyes, letting out a breath that almost sounded like a groan.

"I have to go," he said, turning and looking at Clarice, apology in his eyes. Clarice's heart twisted, not at the thought of him leaving, but at the knowledge that he wanted to stay.

"I know," she said, smiling at him. "John Proudstar, fearless leader, and mother hen, of the Mutant Underground, reporting for breakfast duty." John snorted, closing his eyes once more. Then, taking a deep breath, he pushed himself up off the cot, running his fingers through his hair, pulling the mantel of leadership around himself as Clarice watched.

"John." Clarice spoke just as he was about to push back the curtain of her room. John turned back to her, and Clarice was struck by the sight of him, with his rumpled clothes and sleep-mussed hair, but still with that air of leadership about him.

"Thank you," she said finally. "For staying with me last night, I mean." John stood there for a moment, then he smiled, the soft, gentle smile that made Clarice's heart flutter.

"You're not alone anymore, Clarice," he said. "It's like I said last night. We're in this together." Clarice nodded, unable to speak past the sudden lump in her throat. John gave her one last small smile, then ducked out of her room.

Clarice flopped back against her pillow, hands covering her face. She wasn't sure if she was going to laugh, cry, or throw up. Zingo whined, nudging Clarice with her nose. Clarice reached over and rested her hand on Zingo's head, idly rubbing the dog's ears just the way she knew Zingo liked it.

"I am so screwed," she muttered, but she couldn't stop the grin from spreading across her face.


	3. Other Eyes

"Hey, John, over here." John looked up at the sound of Marcos' voice, seeing that he and Lorna were sitting over at a small table in the corner of the room. Lorna lifted a dented metal bowl, shaking it slightly in John's direction. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, John walked over to them, murmuring greetings to the others as he went. When he reached the table, Lorna kicked out the chair opposite her and Marcos, setting the bowl down in front of it with a half-smirk.

"Thanks," John said, sitting down, though he didn't move to eat any of the watery oatmeal that appeared to be for breakfast.

"Well, you were late," Lorna said, her grey eyes weighing him curiously. "Usually you get here before everyone else so you can lie and say you already ate and no one can argue with you." John looked at her balefully, to which she just gave a sweet smile in return.

"Guess I just didn't realize what time it was," John said, shrugging. It wasn't a lie, per say. He really hadn't realized what time it was. Lorna nodded, though she made no effort to hide her skepticism.

"Isn't that the same shirt you were wearing yesterday?" she asked, cocking her head. "Looks wrinkled."

"Well there isn't exactly a laundromat around here," John retorted, picking up the camp spoon and stirring at the oatmeal, hoping that would dissuade Lorna from asking anymore questions. "Sorry I'm not fancy fresh, Your Majesty." Lorna grinned at that, making Marcos roll his eyes.

"Your hair's a mess, too," Lorna continued, running her eyes up and down John, taking in every detail. "Like someone was running their hands through it and you didn't have time to comb it."

"I never comb it," John replied, forcing down the sudden urge to run his hand through his hair.

"Yes you do," Lorna retorted, rolling her eyes. "You used to hog the bathroom in that little crappy motel we stayed at all the time, primping. In fact, the only time I ever saw you look like this was... well." Her smirk grew into a cheshire cat grin. "Who's bed did you sleep in last night, hmmm, Proudstar?"

"Leave him alone, babe," Marcos cajoled, nudging Lorna affectionately. "John was up late last night reading the reports, I'm sure he just fell asleep at his desk. Wouldn't be the first time."

John returned Marcos' affectionate grin with a nod, grateful for his friend's alibi, even if Marcos didn't know he was providing one. It wasn't that he felt that he and Clarice had done something wrong. It was just that he knew people would... jump to conclusions. And Clarice didn't need that, not with having just lost her family. John knew she still was dealing with the false memories and the thought of taking advantage of her, even unintentionally... it made him sick to his stomach.

"See, I'd believe that, if I hadn't walked by there this morning," Lorna replied, pulling John out of his thoughts. "And you weren't in your room, so don't try that one. And I know it wasn't Sonia's either because, well, she'd look a lot happier if you had been."

"Ew, gross, babe," Marcos protested, wrinkling his nose.

Lorna rolled her eyes, shifting so that she was leaning on the table, looking John directly in the eye. "Come on, Proudstar, fess up." John met her stare for stare, not flinching. He had known Lorna for years, longer than any of the others, even Marcos, and he was immune to her tricks.

Black-violet hair flickered in the corner of his vision. Clarice was standing in the doorway, Zingo at her side. John leaned back, pretending to suddenly become interested in his oatmeal, but his eyes were on Clarice. There wasn't any red around her eyes John noticed gratefully. She was slightly tense, but not the rigid, ready-to-run flightiness that he had been used to during her first stay at Headquarters. She looked almost relaxed, or as relaxed as one could be surrounded by total strangers and with the threat of imminent death hanging over your head.

"Holy shit," Lorna hissed, drawing John's attention away from Clarice abruptly. "It was Clarice, wasn't it? You totally banged Clarice!" John's head whipped back to Lorna, who was grinning like a cat who had eaten the whole damn birdhouse.

"No," John said firmly, leaning forward so his words wouldn't carry passed the table. "I'm serious, Lorna. Yes, I slept in Clarice's room last night, but that was only because I had been talking to her, about her family and everything, and accidentally fell asleep."

"You accidentally fell asleep?" Marcos asked, finally looking interested in the conversation taking place. "You?"

"Yes, me," John retorted, looking at his friend balefully. "She was upset and I sat with her, _that's it_."

"Well _I_ think it's sweet," Lorna said, grinning, a glint in her grey eyes that suddenly made John very nervous.

"Lorna..." he said warningly, but she just smirked at him, winking as she turned in her seat and raised her hand.

"Clarice!" she shouted, waving her hand slightly, attracting the other girl's attention. "Over here, we've got a seat."

Clarice, who had just scooped some of the oatmeal into a chipped ceramic bowl, looked up, surprised. Lorna smiled encouragingly at her, gesturing her over. Clarice began to move towards their table hesitantly, one hand curling reflexively into a fist. Her eyes landed on John and she slowed, almost stopping. John smiled at her, thanking his ancestors that his brown skin hid the blush he knew was starting to form on his cheeks. Clarice gave him a shaky smile back, continuing to thread her way through the now mostly empty tables until she reached theirs.

"Hey," Lorna greeted, smiling up at the other girl genuinely. John knew Lorna was mostly messing with him, but he also knew that the smile, and her kind intentions, were real.

"Hey," Clarice replied, nodding, her eyes still guarded, like she knew something was going on and she wasn't quite sure she was going to like what it was.

"Come on, have a seat," Lorna invited, gesturing to the chair next to John. "We're still waiting for slowpoke here to finish." Clarice nodded, but didn't move to sit, instead looked at John.

"You mind?" she asked, glancing down at the chair. There was a hesitation in her eyes, a worry that made John's heart twist.

"Not at all," he said firmly, smiling up at her, letting his eyes go soft. He hoped she could read what he was trying to say, even if he couldn't say the words themselves. Clarice looked at him for a moment, then smiled, some of the tension running out of her shoulders. She moved to pull the chair back, but John got to it first, sliding it out for her.

It took Lorna's barely contained snort for him to realize what he had done. John purposefully didn't look across the table at his friends, though he could see them looking at each other out of the corner of his eyes. Clarice was looking at him, slightly puzzled, but then she grinned, a real, honest smile, and sat down.

"Thanks," she said, looking at him with that gentle, teasing humor he had seen when they were working on her portals that first time. "I guess chivalry isn't dead after all."

"Nope, just a mutant," John replied, smiling at her. She snorted, shaking her head, but there was a grin tucked into the corner of her eyes that just made John's smile grow wider. He knew Lorna and Marcos were watching them, Lorna with a smirk on her face, but he couldn't bring himself to care. It felt good to smile, to feel like the weight of the war had been lifted off his shoulders, even if it was just for a few moments.

 _It's easier with you_.

His words from this morning came back unbidden to his mind. He remembered how Clarice had looked, head propped up on her pillow, hair pulled out behind her, leaving her sharp, angular face exposed. She had looked beautiful, eyes soft with laughter, body laying close enough that he could feel every beat of her heart, could feel the warmth radiating off of her as he had brushed his fingers against hers. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so... content. So at ease. From the moment the X-Men had disappeared everything had been a fight, a battle. Even Sonia, with her drug-like temptations. He had known so many soldier who had fallen prey to allure of numbness, of the bottle or the needle. He had known that if he didn't get away from Sonia, from Dreamer, she would ensnare him just as easily as the drugs and alcohol took his brothers. He didn't have that fear with Clarice. She cleared his head, not muddied it. She was his opposite, but also his equal. She made the dark a little less deep, and the war a little less endless. She was –

"Hey." John jerked out of his thoughts. Clarice was looking at him, her eyes crinkled in concern. "You gonna eat?" John looked down at his still full bowl, the food long gone cold. He opened his mouth, not sure what he was going to say, but Clarice nudged him with her elbow.

"C'mon," she said, her voice light, though her eyes held understanding, a knowledge of what he was doing. "Can't have our fearless leader collapsing right in the middle of one of his new age hippie self-help speeches." John looked at her for a moment, then shook his head, smile creeping onto his face once more.

"I guess not," he allowed, picking up his spoon and stirring his oatmeal. Then, ignoring Lorna and Marcos' completely unsubtle glances and grins, he began to eat, Clarice's heartbeat a steady murmur at the edge of his mind.


	4. Black Dog

The ground behind Headquarters was strewn with jagged rocks and twisted pieces of metal, the sun barely reaching the ground, leaving the air cool around Clarice as she took a deep breath, centering herself. Opening her eyes, she focused on the solid concrete wall in front of her, trying to keep her heartbeat steady.

"Alright girl," Clarice muttered to herself, taking another deep breath and raising her hands up in front of her. "Just like John said, calm, deliberate, focused. Just take a deep breath and focus on that warm jelly doughnut. Don't think about anything else." That, of course, made every single thing she had been fighting to keep in the back of her mind surge forward. _Blood, bullet holes, police tape, her fault, her fault..._

"Nope," Clarice snapped, clenching her hands into fists and driving her nails into her palms, using the pain to clear her head. "Not happening. Warm jelly doughnut, nothing else."

Taking another deep breath, she opened her fists, spreading her fingers. Her hands were throbbing, pulsing in time with her heartbeat. Clarice welcomed it, letting her mind sink down into the pain, falling into its rhythm. She could feel the fabric of the world between her hands, could feel her power sparking along her arms. Focusing on her storage closet room, she _pulled_. Purple appeared between her hands, popping and sparking. Baring her teeth, Clarice pulled harder, her room held clearly in her mind, the throb of pain a steady, reassuring undercurrent. The portal began to get wider. She could see the wall of her room –

 _Bullet holes, peppering the wall. Blood running down it, blood of a child, an innocent –_

"No," Clarice gasped, trying to force the image away. Her chest was tight, her hands starting to tremble...

– _door splintered inwards, foot prints in blood, combat boots, boots of the men_ _ **she**_ _had led there, led there because she couldn't control herself, because she was useless, weak, a danger, a killer_ –

"No!" Clarice snarled, tear running down her face. The portal snapped closed, leaving only the faint smell of ozone behind.

"Fuck!" Zingo whined, looking at Clarice worriedly. Clarice wanted to comfort her, but she knew if she opened her mouth she would scream, so she just clenched her hands into fists once more, welcoming the spikes of pain as her nails bit into already tender skin.

"Clarice?" _John. Of course it was John._ "Clarice, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she snapped, not looking at him, eyes focused on the wall where her failed portal had been.

"No, you're not," John replied, moving into her field of vision, his face lined with concern. "I could hear your heartbeat all the way in the vault."

"That's kinda creepy, you know," Clarice snapped, glaring at him, hating him in that moment, hating how softly he looked at her, how gentle his voice was, how her body automatically wanted to relax around him. She didn't want comfort, not right now. Not when she didn't deserve it.

"I know," John said, not even seeming to notice the ire in her voice, or choosing to ignore it if he did. He ran his eyes over her face, noting where the one tear had dried with a pained twist of his lips. Then his eyes moved down to her hands.

"Hey," he said, reaching out immediately and taking her hands in his. "Clarice..." His thumbs pushed her fingers back easily, pulling her nails out of her palms, exposing the vibrant red crescents she had marked herself with. He looked up at her, a pain in his eyes that made Clarice's heart want to break. She looked away from him, staring over his shoulder at the wall. She waited for the yelling, the remonstrations, the anger.

It never came. Instead John wrapped his hands around hers, covering her abused skin with the protective layer of his own hand. Clarice was so shocked that her eyes snapped back to him, meeting his gaze for the first time since he had found her.

"I'm sorry," John murmured, running his thumbs along her knuckles. "Clarice, I'm so sorry."

"For what?" Clarice asked, shaken by the sorrow and regret on John's face.

"For your pain," he replied, lifting her hands, which were still held firmly in his. "For making you feel like you had to use your abilities before you were ready."

"John..." Clarice trailed off, shaking her head. She took a deep breath, suddenly overcome by urge to laugh. "You are a complete, ridiculous idiot." John raised his eyebrows in surprise, cocking his head slightly.

"Oh?" he asked, the corner of his lips twitching in what might have been a small smile. "What for this time?"

"It's not your fault," Clarice replied, giving his hands a gentle squeeze. "None of it. Not the ranch, not the soldiers, not me... You act like everything bad that happens is on you, but it's not." John looked at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he dropped his head, a small, self-deprecating smile twisting his lips.

"It feels like it, sometimes," he said after a moment, looking back up at her. "The X-Men left me with this responsibility, this war. And I want to get people ready for it, give them the best chance they can at surviving what's coming. But it seems like every time I do, someone I care about gets hurt."

"Everyone finds their own reasons to stay," Clarice said, ignoring the way her heart had jumped at his last words. "You told me that, back in the warehouse. And you're right. Everyone here is fighting for their own reasons, not because you made them. So stop blaming yourself."

"Only if you stop blaming yourself for your family's death," John replied, looking at her seriously. Clarice took a deep breath, her chest tightening as the images from the farm tried to swamp her. She forced them back, squeezing John's hands, focusing on the feel of him, solid and real, grounding her, keeping her from getting lost.

"I'm trying," she said eventually, when her voice was back under control. "That's why I'm out here. I need to get control of my powers, for them and for myself."

"Then let me help," John offered, squeezing Clarice's hands gently. "You don't have to do this alone." Clarice felt that now familiar twist in her heart again at his words. _I don't know how else to be_ , she wanted to tell him. But that wasn't quite true anymore. Not since he had sat beside her bed and forgiven her for almost ripping his home apart, not since he had seen her lose all control and still hadn't flinched away from her touch.

"Okay," she finally said, giving him the smallest of smiles. "But I am going to need my hands back."

John looked down at where their hands were still wrapped together. He made no move to drop them at first, running his thumb over her knuckles instead. Clarice's heart skipped a beat and she swore she saw John grin, but then he opened his hands, slowly pulling them away from hers, saying "If you insist."

Clarice flexed her fingers, suddenly feeling cold and unbalanced. John moved to her shoulder, leaving the space in front of her open. Taking a deep breath, Clarice raised her hands in front of her. She looked at the concrete wall and focused, holding the picture of her closet-room in her mind's eye. Taking another deep breath, she gently took hold of her power, gripping at the fabric of reality only she could feel. Slowly, she pulled, trying to hold onto just the image of her room, her safe spot in Headquarters.

Purple light appear between her hands. Encouraged, Clarice increased her power, pulling more firmly, trying to widen the portal. But the fabric was slipping her fingers, her power fizzling even as she called on it. Gritting her teeth, Clarice concentrated harder.

 _Room. Safe._

 _Room. Safe._

 _Safe. Must be safe._

 _Must be safe. Have get to safety, exposed,_ _ **trapped.**_

 _Coming, they're coming, chains, handcuffs, blood, bullet holes, your fault, your fault, killed them_ –

"No!"

The portal slammed closed, spitting sparks as it did. Clarice stood there, shaking, her heart pounding in her ears. She wanted to _scream_ , scream and run, run as far away from this place, any place, as she could.

"Clarice, hey, it's okay." Clarice whipped around, rage boiling up inside of her.

"Stop fucking saying that!" she yelled, hating how John didn't even flinch, just looked at her, calm and steady. "It's not okay! I can't even fucking open a portal to inside the fucking building, how the hell am I ever going to get to fucking Sentinel Services? Without my abilities I am _dead_. They'll find me and take me back to that fucking detainment center, my hands shackled, my arms full of needles, chained up like a –"

"No," John cut her off, taking her by the shoulders, his tone one that left no room for argument. "I will never let that happen, Clarice. Never. It doesn't matter if you never make another portal in your life, you will _not_ be taken."

"You can't promise that," Clarice argued, torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to cry, because she knew he _meant_ it.

"Yes, I can," John said, squeezing her shoulders gently. "I can promise you that as long as I am alive, you will not be taken. And I'm damn hard to kill."

Clarice closed her eyes, unable to look at him any longer. It was torture, to see him looking at her with such warmth, to hear his words, and only be able to wonder if it was because of his guilt, because of what Dreamer put in her head. She wanted so badly to fall into him, to just give in and let her heart run to him. But she couldn't. Not when she still didn't trust her own heart, her own mind. So she opened her eyes and looked at him, shaking her head.

"I can't just rely on you forever, John," she said, reaching up and touching his arm, words that were supposed to have been a rebuke coming out so much softer, a gentle honesty brought into the open by grief and exhaustion. "I _need_ to be able to trust myself, to be able to trust my powers. I just... I don't know how. My powers have always been motivated by fear, or anger, or sheer adrenaline. But if Dreamer taught me anything when she shoved those memories into my head, it's that I can't sustain that, not if I actually want to be able to _use_ my powers, really use them. I just don't... I only have that warm jelly doughnut."

"No, you don't," John said, smiling gently at her, reaching up and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, making Clarice jump. "You said it yourself, your powers have always been motivated by fear. But I think I know how to change that."

"How?" Clarice asked skeptically, suddenly very, very nervous.

"You remember when you told me about Bear?" John asked, dropping his hands from her shoulders. "About how he would sleep at your back, making you feel safe?"

"Yes?" Clarice replied questioningly, crossing her arms over her stomach, feeling exposed.

"Well," John said, moving so that he was standing behind her, so close that Clarice could feel the heat radiating off his body. "I'm Bear."

"What?" Clarice asked, completely confused, turning her head so that she could look at him, eyebrow raised. John chuckled, and Clarice's heart skipped a beat, suddenly realizing how close he was to her.

"I'm here to make you feel safe," he explained, reaching up and gently resting his hands on her shoulders once more. "I know I'm not as good as a big black dog, but I'm hoping I can be the next best thing."

 _You're not the next best thing_ , Clarice wanted to say, looking up into those deep, steady brown eyes. _You are so much more than that._ But she couldn't. Not yet. So instead she just nodded and turned back to the front, trying to ignore how every breath she took made her back brush against his chest, or how the steady weight of his hands on her shoulders made the tension in her chest start to loosen.

"Just focus, Clarice," John murmured, squeezing her shoulders gently. "You're safe. I've got you. You're safe, safe here with me."

"I know," Clarice breathed. And she was. With John at her back, she knew that nothing could touch her, that he would guard her, protect her, just like she would him. Because, if Clarice was truly honest with herself, that's what it came down to. She wanted to protect him, wanted to know that if she ever needed to, she could save him. So, taking a deep breath, concentrating on the warm, solid bulk of him behind her, Clarice lifted her hands.

The purple sparked immediately. Holding the image of her room in her mind, Clarice began to pull. Her hands throbbed, sending pain shooting up her arm. She gritted her teeth, refusing to acknowledge it. She could still feel John's hands on her shoulders, thumbs rubbing along her skin comforting. Focusing on that, she pulled harder, opening the portal farther. She could see the wall now, and a corner of her pillow.

 _Concrete cell, shackles, blood, so much blood –_

"Easy," John murmured, his lips right next to her ear. "I've got you, Clarice. You're okay, you're safe, I've got you." Clarice wanted to say something, but her chest was so tight she could barely breathe, let alone speak.

 _Pools of blood, shattered doors..._

 _Warm,_ Clarice thought forcefully, pushing at the other thoughts. _Warm, pine trees... safe._

 _Alone, weak, so weak, your fault –_

 _Not alone,_ Clarice countered, leaning into John's hands, pressing her back against his chest. _I am not alone._

The portal was growing. She could see all of her pillow now, and the bag where she kept all of her clothes. Baring her teeth in exaltation, Clarice called on more of her power, leaning on John as the surge made her knees start to tremble.

 _Pain, destruction, death, always following you –_

 _John laughing. John looking at her as he pets Zingo, listening to her. John looking at her, his eyes filled with something she barely dares to name..._

 _Fake, all fake, Dreamer –_

 _John's face on her pillow, John's arms around her, holding her to him, real,_ _ **real**_ –

The portal blew open, towering over her, big enough three people could walk abreast through it with ease.

"Yes!" John crowed, making Clarice grin. She held the portal, refusing to let it start to shrink. She could feel John's heartbeat against her back and she counts it, steadying herself. Then, when she's sure that she's held the portal for long enough that people could have run through it, Clarice dropped her hands, closing the portal gently.

"That was amazing," John said, coming around so that he was standing in front of Clarice. His eyes were bright with excitement and he was grinning. "I knew you could do it."

"Not without you," Clarice replied, too high on her triumph to care about censoring her words. John grinned at her, but shook his head.

"I was just the big black dog," he said, reaching out and taking her shoulders again, the weight of his hands now so familiar that Clarice immediately began to relax when he touched her. "The rest was all you, Clarice."

 _You were so much more than that_ , Clarice thought, her heart twinging as she looked at him. Her heart ached to tell him, to reach across the distance between them and... But she couldn't. Not yet. So instead she smiled at him and promised herself that she would find the courage to tell John exactly what had given her strength today.


	5. A Different Kind of Courage

Someone knocked lightly on the frame of Clarice's door, making her look up from her book in surprise. It was late, and just about everyone was either in bed or heading that way.

"Yeah?" she asked, sitting up a little straighter on her bed. The tension left her, however, when John pushed aside the curtain, stepping half into her room.

"Hey," he said, giving her a half-smile.

"Hey," she replied, trying to ignore the way her heart jumped at the sight of him.

"Hope I'm not disturbing you," John said after a moment, gesturing at the book in Clarice's lap. Clarice looked down, honestly having forgotten that she was holding it.

"You're not," she replied, closing the book and setting it on the floor beside her bed. "Just... trying to keep my mind busy and all that. Have a hard time sleeping sometimes."

"Yeah, I get that," John said, giving her another one of those half-smiles that made Clarice's heart want to melt. "I brought something that might help."

"Booze?" Clarice asked hopefully, grinning when John snorted.

"Unfortunately, no," he replied, chuckling. He stepped into Clarice's room, letting the curtain fall closed behind him. "But I did go to Caitlin and get you these." He held up a pair of flat, blue squares that looked vaguely like really stiff bean bags.

"Um, thanks?" Clarice said, looking at John in complete confusion. John chuckled and walked over to her bed, sitting down on the foot of it.

"They're ice bags," he explained. "For your hands."

"My hands?" Clarice asked, looking down at the aforementioned appendages. "Why?"

"Because you beat the hell out of them today and they've gotta be sore," John replied, rolling his eyes. "Here, just give me your hands." Clarice looked at him suspiciously, but did as he asked, holding her hands out towards him. John shifted closer, moving up until his knees were practically brushing hers. Then he placed the two blue bags in her hands.

"They're cold!" Clarice hissed, trying to pull back, but John's hands caught hold of hers before she could.

"They're ice bags, what else did you expect?" he asked, looking at her in amusement. Clarice made a face at him, making him grin. Then she looked down at her hands, which seemed incredibly small next to his. The initial shock of the cold had vanished, leaving behind only a blissful coolness that was soaking into her sore, hot palms.

"...Okay this actually feels pretty great," Clarice grudgingly acknowledged, closing her eyes and relaxing slightly back into the pillow. "And if you say 'I told you so', I swear I will beat you to death with this pillow."

"My lips are sealed," John said solemnly, and Clarice didn't need to have her eyes open to see his smile, it was laced all through his voice. "Though, that would be very entertaining to see."

"Don't underestimate me," Clarice said, cracking one eye open to look at him, smirk taking all of the heat out of her words. "I am highly motivated."

"Never doubted you for a moment," John replied amiably, smiling at her. He rubbed his thumb along the underside of her wrist gently, movements almost idle, like he wasn't even thinking about it. Like it was normal for him to touch her in that gentle, almost intimate way. Clarice didn't know whether she wanted to laugh or scream, and was half tempted to do both.

"Hey." John's voice was gentle, as gentle as it always was when he was talking to her. Clarice looked down, her throat suddenly tight. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Clarice replied, looking up again, her voice over-bright even to her own ears. "Just surprised a big muscle man like you is secretly all touchy-feely." John looked at her in confusion, then looked down at their hands. Clarice swore she could see his cheeks go red as he let go of her like she was suddenly a hot poker.

"Sorry," he said gruffly, not meeting her eyes. "I'm sorry, Clarice. I didn't mean to – press you."

"That's not what I meant," Clarice said, kicking herself. She had grown so used to him being open and soft with her that seeing this stoic soldier sitting across from her hurt her heart in ways she couldn't even comprehend. "John –"

She reached out to him, forgetting that the ice packs were still in her hands. They fell, landing on John's bare arm, making him yelp. Both he and Clarice froze. Clarice's eyes went from him to the ice packs, and then to her icy cold hands.

"Clarice," John said warningly, seeing the mental calculations she was doing. "Don't..." Grinning, Clarice launched herself at him, iced palms aiming for the exposed skin of his neck. John fell backwards, hands coming up to grab her wrists. His touch was still gentle, conscious of his far superior strength as Clarice grappled with him, trying to press her cold hands against any exposed skin she could find.

They ended up in a laughing pile on Clarice's bed. Clarice was laid out along John's body, legs tangled with his, her arms pinned to the bed on either side of his head. John was grinning up at her, the heaviness gone from his eyes. His body was warm and solid (extremely solid) against hers and Clarice felt both tiny and infinite. She looked down at him, tracing the angles of his face, strong and sharp and beautiful. It really was unfair how _attractive_ he was, with eyes so deep you could get lost in them and lips that... well. Lips that she had spent far more time than she was willing to admit thinking about.

"Hey," John murmured, letting go of her arm and reaching up, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing against her cheek. "You okay?" Clarice looked down at him, her heart thundering against her chest.

"Oh, fuck it."

Throwing caution to the wind, Clarice leaned down and pressed her lips to his. John didn't move for a second, and Clarice started to panic, thinking perhaps she had misinterpreted everything and just made an absolute fool of herself. Then John moaned, honest to god _moaned_ , hand coming up and burying itself in her hair as he _finally_ began to kiss her back.

 _Holy fuck_ , Clarice thought dazedly to herself, unable to stop the grin that was spreading across her face even as she continued to kiss John. He tasted sweet, like rich honey, and his lips were so incredibly soft.

"Clarice..." Clarice practically whimpered when he said her name, his voice rough, rumbling from the very center of his chest. "Clarice, I – we can't do this."

"Why?" Clarice demanded, pulling back just enough so that she could look at him. His pupils were blown wide, eyes almost black with desire. "Because there's a war happening? Because you're a leader? Because the others wouldn't approve? That's all bullshit and you know it."

"Because I care about you," John replied solemnly, sitting up and taking Clarice with him, maneuvering them so that Clarice was sitting between his bent legs on the bed. His arms were still around her waist, holding her to him even as his words tried to push her away. "I care about you and I – I can't take advantage of you."

"Take advantage of me?" Clarice repeated, shaking her head minutely, not understanding what he was saying. "Because of my family? John, this isn't grief. This is –"

"Because of the memories Dreamer put in your head," John interrupted flatly. Clarice stared at him.

"John..." she said slowly, reaching up and laying a hand on his cheek, heart aching as she watched him start shutting down right in front of her. "That's not what – I know my own mind. I know what's real and what's not."

"But does your heart?" John asked, looking at her, such sadness in his eyes that Clarice wanted to hold him, to push away all of that pain, all of that heaviness that sat on his shoulders. "Clarice, I – I care for you. Ever since you got sick... I couldn't admit it. I was afraid, afraid that I would drive you away. And then Dreamer shoved those memories into your head... I saw what you looked like after she did it. And I just – I can't take advantage of that. I already hurt you once by keeping the truth of what she did from you. I won't do it again."

Clarice looked at the man sitting in front of her for a moment, emotions swirling through her. Reaching up, she took John's face in both her hands, finger running gently across his cheeks. Leaning forward, she rested her forehead against his, closing her eyes.

"Do you know what I thought of today, when I made my portal?" Clarice asked quietly. She felt John shake his head and she smiled, pulling back slightly so that she could look at him again.

"I thought of you," she said, tracing his cheek with her thumb. Clarice looked into John's eyes and dropped all of her walls, letting him see everything she had been holding back. "I thought of your arms around me, of you holding me as I mourned my family, of the sound of your laugh the next morning. I thought of you coming to find me, of you standing at my back, of you holding my hands in yours, protecting me even from myself. Those are _my_ memories, not Dreamer's. I never needed her to _make_ me care about you, I already did, long before she breathed that smoke into my lungs. I was just afraid, afraid like you were. But now... now I'm tired of living in fear."

"Clarice..." John murmured, his eyes still uncertain. He brought his hands up and cupped her face between them, holding her as if she was the most precious thing in the world.

"What do you say, Proudstar?" Clarice asked, tilting her head forward so that their foreheads were pressed together once more. "Are you ready to be brave with me?" John looked at her, his eyes stormy with conflict. Then he sighed, all of the tension running out of his body.

"Hell yes," he said, looking at Clarice, a grinning spreading across his face.


	6. A Meeting of Souls

Burying his hand in her hair, John pulled Clarice to him, kissing her fiercely. Clarice returned the kiss with exuberance, tangling her fingers in John's hair, just like she had thought about doing a thousand times before. John moaned, free arm wrapping around her waist, holding her to him.

Clarice practically whimpered, pressing forward, trying to get as close to him as she could. After so long of holding back, of keeping her distance and resisting every urge, she was practically drunk on the freedom of being able to _touch_ him, of being able to press into his hold, legs wrapped around his waist as he devoured her.

"Clarice," John murmured, finally pulling back for air, cupping her face in his hand, thumb gently stroking her cheeks as he leaned her forehead against hers, staring into her eyes, brown eyes so deep that Clarice felt like she was going to drown in then. "Gods, I've been wanting to do this for so long... You are so amazing, Clarice. Strong and fierce and kind and smart and so, so breathtakingly beautiful... I care about you so much, Clarice. You know that, right?"

"Yes," Clarice replied, overwhelmed for a moment that there was no hesitation in her answer. She did know, all the way down to her core. "I knew when you found me after I left. You said the Underground needed me, but –"

"I was afraid," John admitted, tightening the arm around her waist, pressing her to him, like he was worried she was going to disappear. "I couldn't tell you that _I_ needed you, not then, not with everything still so... complicated. But I do. I need you, I want you, I... I want to be by your side, through whatever may come."

John looked into Clarice's eyes, their bodies still twined together, every wall pulled down, baring his soul to her. Clarice almost wanted to cry, but instead she kissed him. She kissed him with all the words she couldn't say yet, with everything that had been building between them from that first moment she had laid eyes on him.

Leaning backwards, Clarice pulled John down to the bed, still kissing him, her legs wrapped around his waist. John went easily, following her down with a smile Clarice could feel against her lips. The weight of him on top of her should have been terrifying, a crushing trap, but Clarice had never felt safer in her life. She could feel every angle of John's body where it lay against hers, a vessel for indestructible strength that held her gently, almost reverently. Clarice ran her hands down his neck and over his shoulders, finally able to touch John in the way she had been longing to for so long.

"Tell me if I'm crushing you," John murmured, pulling back only enough to begin trailing kisses down Clarice's cheek and neck, making her gasp.

"You're good," she assured him breathlessly, the feel of his lips against her neck almost robbing her of speech entirely. "You're great, you're perfect, I will kill you if you stop." John chuckled, a deep, masculine sound rumbling from the center of his chest as he pointedly placed another kiss directly on Clarice's pulse, making her moan. She ran her hands down his back, fingers reaching the hem of his shirt, which had ridden up slightly, exposing a strip of warm skin.

"May I?" she asked, tugging lightly on the hem of his shirt. John, who was still busy pillaging her neck and shoulder, nodded. Clarice let her hands move down to his warm, soft skin, sliding her hands under his shirt and pushing it up, dragging her hands up his back.

"Off," Clarice said, tugging at the shirt pointedly where it had bunched up under his arms. "I want to see you." She could feel John smile into the side of her neck before he shifted, pulling back slightly and yanking his shirt off.

"Wow," Clarice said, staring at John as he knelt above her, torso bared to her hungry gaze. "You are... wow." She looked up at him, grinning when she saw he was blushing. Leaning up, she put her hands on his hips, stroking the hollow of his hipbones. John's eyes fluttered closed and he groaned. Leaning forwards, he captured Clarice's lips in a crushing kiss, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her against him. Clarice wrapped her arms around his neck, hands splayed out across the muscles of his back.

"My turn," John murmured against Clarice's lips, looking at her with eyes eclipsed by black. In one swift motion, John flipped them, rolling onto his back so that Clarice was above him, straddling him. Clarice let out a rather undignified squeak at the sudden motion, but wrapped up in John's arms she wasn't afraid, not of anything.

Pulling back, Clarice sat up, looking down at John spread out beneath her, his hands resting on her thighs, thumbs tracing small, idle circles. She marveled that this amazing man let her see him like this, his face soft and bare, body completely relaxed and open to her.

"I love this," Clarice murmured, reaching out and running her hands up John's stomach and chest, up his neck to cup his face. "I love that I can finally _touch_ you, that I can say everything I have been thinking for _so long_. John..."

"I know," John murmured, covering one of Clarice's hands with his own, turning his head slightly so that he could nuzzle her palm. "Me too. Gods, Clarice, me too." Clarice leaned down and kissed him, slow and sweet, savoring the taste of him, the softness of his lips against hers. John's hands rubbed up and down her thighs, soft and comforting, touching just for the sake of touching. His thumb brushed the hem of Clarice's shirt and he stopped, pulling back slightly and looking at her, eyes serious.

"Only if you want," he said, touching the edge of her shirt again lightly. "You don't have –" Clarice cut him off with a gentle kiss, then leaned back, grabbing the edge of her shirt and pulling it off in one smooth motion, tossing it into the corner. She shook her hair, running her hands through it to settle it, then looked down at John.

The hunger in his eyes almost took her breath away. He was looking at her with such open wanting and love that her heart seized in her throat. Gently, John moved his hands from her thighs to her hips, then up, skin hot against hers as he ran his hands up her sides to brush his fingers along the undersides of her bare breasts.

"You are so beautiful, Clarice," John said, looking up at her as he slowly curled his hands up over her breasts, fingers brushing her nipples, making Clarice gasp. She leaned her head back, arching into his touch. The movement pressed her even more firmly into his lap, allowing her to feel the full length of the hardness she had felt nudging at her. Grinning to herself, Clarice shifted again, grinding down, twitching her hips in small, minute movements.

John groaned out her name, sitting up and wrapping his arms around her, crushing their bare chests together. The feel of him against her, skin to skin, made Clarice moan. She wrapped her arms around John, burying her fingers in his hair, not stopping her small, grinding movements. She wanted him, wanted him like she never had wanted anyone before in her life. This carnal desire... it should have frightened her, but instead it just made her feel alive.

"Clarice," John whispered into her neck, talking in between planting small, butterfly kisses on her tender skin. "Clarice, I – We don't have to rush this. I'm not going to disappear tomorrow, or the day after. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

Clarice pulled back just enough so she could see John's eyes. They were black with desire, pupils blown so wide she could barely see any of the warm brown she loved so much. But he was serious. Clarice knew that if in that moment she said no, that she didn't want to continue down this path, that she just wanted to curl up in bed, pressed to his chest, he would accept it easily. There was no pressure, no expectations. Just John, looking at her tenderly, his hands stroking up and down her back, impossibly strong hands easy and gentle against her.

"John," Clarice murmured, leaning her forehead against his, smiling as she looked into his eyes. "I want this. I want _you_. I want to _feel_ you, all of you, around me, inside of me. If you want that too, then..."

"Oh I want it," John replied, grinning at Clarice, squeezing her lightly. "I just... I want you to be sure."

"I am," Clarice assured him firmly, kissing him gently. "I have never been more sure of anything in my life."

"Well, in that case..." John trailed off, devilish grin creeping onto his face. Twisting, he pinned Clarice to the bed once more, kissing her like he wanted to devour her. Clarice arched into him, pressing as much of her body as she could against his. John moved to her neck, trailing biting kisses down the long column to her shoulder, then gently down her chest, pausing only briefly to flick her nipple with his tongue. Clarice watched him through hooded eyes, her body practically vibrating under his ministrations. He continued his way down her stomach, kisses gentler now, gentle and warm, his hands steady on her sides.

"May I?" he asked when he reached the top of her pants, looking up at her with a wolfish grin, his fingers curling into her hips, thumbs rubbing gently. Rendered speechless by the sight of him, Clarice nodded, lifting her hips to help. John grabbed hold of the top of her pants, which were the soft sweats that she slept in, and pulled them slowly down, hooking his thumb into her panties and dragging them down as well. Clarice lifted her feet, wiggling, trying to kick the pants off faster. John chuckled, obliging her and yanking them off, tossing them into the same corner Clarice's shirt had landed in. Then he looked down at her, spread before him, completely naked.

"Clarice..." John said softly, running his hands along her bare thighs, making her shiver with anticipation. "You are so beautiful, and strong, and vibrant, and –"

"You're gonna make me blush," Clarice teased, stretching her hands up above her head, arching her back slightly, reveling in the feel of his hands on her, of the complete safety she felt with his eyes on her. She knew he could see the scars, the stories of a life spent first as an orphan than as a runaway. But she didn't care. He had seen her break, had seen her rage, had seen her cower and run. A few marks on her skin didn't mean anything to those brown eyes that held such warmth, those strong hands that touched her so reverently. She felt at peace, free from anxiety and uncertainty. It was just her, John, and the connection between them.

"Oh _de'nzhone_ , I haven't even begun to make you blush yet," John countered, grinning at her, his hands moving around her thighs, brushing the insides of them with his fingertips. Heat curled up through Clarice's body and she felt her heart stutter.

"Pants first," Clarice ordered breathlessly, too distracted by John's hands to form complete sentences. "I want to see you." John smiled at Clarice, then pulled away slowly, getting up off the bed. Clarice wanted to whine, her body missing him already, but then his hands went to the top of his jeans and she didn't mind as much, though he was still far too far away for her liking. John undid his pants and bent, pushing them down. He kicked them off easily, then stood.

"Holy fuck," Clarice said, propping herself up, eyes drinking him in greedily. The strong, lean lines of his body continued downwards, tracing strong thighs and calves that would have made a runner whimper in envy. His skin was that warm, oaky brown she loved so much, smooth and unmarked. Hard to get scars when you're indestructible. And his cock... Clarice's mouth practically watered at the sight of it. Long and thick, it bobbed proudly before.

"Good holy fuck or bad holy fuck?" John asked, moving back towards the bed.

"Good, absolutely good," Clarice replied, rising up so that she was kneeling on the bed, her hands reaching for him, looking up into those brown eyes she loved so much. "John, you are honestly unfairly attractive. Goddamn Apache Adonis."

John snorted, grinning at her as he cupped Clarice's face in his hands, pulling her up so that he could kiss her. Clarice went eagerly, steadying herself with her hands on John's hips. Leaning against John's chest, Clarice trailed her hands down, fingertips brushing his cock. John groaned into her mouth, body pressing into hers, eager for her touch. Clarice wrapped her hand fully around his cock, her fingers just barely able to make the distance. She moved her hand slowly, enjoying the feel of him heavy in her hand.

"Clarice," John whispered between kisses, his fingers flexing into her back. "This feels amazing, but if you keep doing that, this is going to be over far too quickly."

"Well then, any suggestions?" Clarice asked, nipping at John's lower lip, giving his cock a gentle squeeze, grinning when he groaned and half thrust into her hand. John didn't reply, just reached down and grabbed the back of her legs, scooping her up as he moved forwards, laying her down on the bed, legs wrapped around him.

"My turn," he murmured, giving Clarice one last scorching kiss, then sliding down until he was laying between her spread thighs.

"Oh fu-" Clarice gasped, her words cut off as John licked a long stripe from her center to her clit, fastening his lips over the bundle of nerves when he reached it and flicking it with his tongue. Clarice's back arched, only John's strong hand keeping her pinned to the bed. He devoured her like a starved man, sending wave after wave of pleasure coursing through her body. One hand kept her hips pinned to the bed, the other moved so that John could gently slide a finger into her.

"John, oh fuck, _John_ ," Clarice panted, one hand buried in his hair, the other clinging to the blanket. "Fuck that feel so good, holy fuck, yes..." She felt John grin against her, his tongue still working her clit, his finger sliding in and out of her steadily. Soon a second finger joined the first, making Clarice gasp in pleasure.

"John, I want you," Clarice said, tugging gently on his hair to get his attention. John looked up at her, two fingers buried in her, mouth devouring her and _holy fuck_ , Clarice was going to hold onto that image forever. "I want your cock inside of me, now."

"You sure?" John asked, barely pulling away enough for his words to be heard, crooking his fingers inside her, making Clarice gasp.

"Yes!" Clarice said forcefully, grinding down on his hand even as she spoke. "I want you inside of me, John, I want to finally be able to feel you, all of you."

"I want that too, _de'nzhone_ ," John murmured, placing one final kiss on her clit before pulling away, sliding his fingers out of her slowly, making Clarice whine. "But I want you on top. I want to be able to watch you." Clarice shivered, the thought of sinking down on John's cock with him spread out beneath her, dark eyes bearing into hers, sending a fresh wave of heat through her body.

"Hell yes," Clarice said, pulling John up to her and kissing him fiercely, the taste of her wetness still on his lips. She pushed him onto his back, straddling him. John held onto her hips, steadying Clarice as she rose up, taking hold of John's cock and bringing the tip of it to her dripping center.

Clarice paused, the tip of him pressing into her. Taking one of his hands off her hip, Clarice tangled their fingers together, holding tight to John's hand. Electric green eyes met deep brown. Then Clarice slowly sunk down onto John's cock.

"Clarice..." John groaned, his eyes fluttering as Clarice sank downwards, holding tight to her hand as she took him fully into herself. " _De'nzhone..._ "

"John," Clarice murmured, throwing her head back, the feel of his cock inside of her, filling her, driving all rational thought from her mind. "Fuck, _John_..."

"I'm right here, beautiful," John said, rising up and wrapping his arms around Clarice, the movement rocking his cock inside of her. "I'm right here with you, always." Clarice looked at him, knowing that her eyes were saying more than her words ever could. Wrapping her arms around him, Clarice kissed him. Kissed him like he was the last solid thing in the world, which at that moment he was. She rocked into him, moaning breathlessly as his cock shifted inside of her, sliding over a spot that made her see stars.

John curled a hand into her hair, cradling her head as he began to move. He set a slow, deep rhythm, pressing as far into Clarice as he could. They rocked together, clinging together on an endless sea. Every stroke of John's cock filled Clarice, stroking her over and over again. She was spiraling upwards, John pushing her higher and higher. She would have been afraid, but his arms were around her, protecting her, steadying her even as his speed increased, sending her ever higher.

"John," Clarice gasped, looking into John's beautiful brown eyes. "I'm going to..."

"Come for me, love," John murmured, resting his forehead against hers, never looking away. "Come for me, Clarice, _de'nzhone,_ beloved, come –" Clarice gasped, her whole body tensing, walls spasming around John's cock. John groaned, Clarice's orgasm pulling him over the edge. Their eyes never left each other as John buried his cock deep inside Clarice, spilling himself inside her, body trembling. The feel of his cum inside her sent Clarice over the edge again and she clung to John, body shaking with a pleasure so deep that she could feel it in her soul.

Spent, the two fell backwards, John cradling Clarice to his chest, his softening cock still inside her. Turning her head up, Clarice kissed him, slow and sweet, mind still heavy with pleasure and body humming agreeably at the feel of him still inside her.

"I should go get us some wet towels to clean up with," John said softly between kisses, his fingers winding idly through Clarice's hair.

"Leave and I will kill you," Clarice replied, giving John a stern look, then kissing him again, pressing herself into him, legs tangled with his.

"Then I won't leave," John promised, his words holding so much more meaning then putting off a trip to the laundry room. "Not until you want me to, Clarice."

"Hope you're ready for forever, then," Clarice replied, looking up at him, her expression fierce, almost a challenge. John looked down at her, overwhelmed by how much he felt for this beautiful, amazing, fiercely strong woman. He kissed her, wrapping Clarice up even tighter in his arms and holding her to him.

"Forever sounds good to me."


End file.
